To Honor and Cherish
by Riha Hyesthae
Summary: Leo and his new bride weather the winter season in Vinay Del Zexay with the aid of some friends. Navigating the treacherous battlefield of high society is not something either of them would care to deal with, but both are forced into a duel of etiquette. Insults are hurled, accusations are thrown, and Leo discovers a deeply personal score that has yet to be settled.
1. Your Ladyship

Like so many active duty couples, the wedding had been hasty and the honeymoon delayed: it would have been too horribly awkward with a house full of guests. Although Leo had filed the requisitions to have her transferred out of the women's barracks and she'd updated her marital status- much to the shock of the clerical staff- the ripple of social backlash had been minimal. Then again, it was only Brass Castle. They were among fellow soldiers and friends. Once the news reached Vinay del Zexay, the reaction would be much worse.

Moving from a straw cot in a room shared with three other women off the edge of the female barracks to a full suite of rooms with a feather tester was a jump in accommodations to say the least. Had they not been so horrendously busy, she might have had time to think it all a bit awkward. However, they were both soldiers. It would not be the first time either of them had had to share sleeping arrangements. Indeed, there were few moments at which either of them lay down or got up at the same time. Despite popular rumor, the first few weeks of their marriage were emphatically devoid of romance.

It wasn't until winter leave, as she and Leo were riding home, side by side, that the reality began to sink in. They were going home, not just to his home but i _their_ /i home. They were married now. She was Lady of Gallen Manor. It was too surreal to try to process, and so she put the thought aside, allowing it to simmer at the back of her mind.

There was a groom waiting for them in the stable yard, but rather than hand him the reins, she held tight.

"Where shall I put her?"

The groom turned and looked to Leo, bewildered.

"Wherever you wish, there's plenty of space," Leo told her. "Choose as you will."

There weren't many animals in the stables- one stall was a bit grander than the others, clearly that of Leo's charger. However, aside from three more modest quarter horses, a draft horse, and a sturdy little donkey, most of the stalls were empty. The one next to Reilan's was vacant and she led Cierelle into it.

"Ronald cares for the animals," Leo told her over the dividing wall. "He'll soon learn what Cierelle likes."

Aurella smiled and nodded, turning to see to her own animal. The groom might know his business, but she wasn't ready to turn her mount, her greatest possession, over to a stranger. Even Felicia was usually spared the drudgery of mucking stalls and grooming dusty fur and knotted tails. A horse was what made a knight a knight and not simply a foot soldier. Ronald would care for Cierelle one day, but not today. Still, it pleased her to notice that he was watching her, taking note of what she did and how she addressed her animal. Leo was right, the groom did know his business.

Inside the manor it was blessedly warm. Although the snow had not yet been swept in from the sea, the air was crisp and sharp. Until she stepped inside, she hadn't realized how cold she'd been. The interior was dim and cozy, a fire crackling in the hearth. While the surroundings were passably familiar, it was hard to think of being in Gallen manor as anything but a guest. The last time she had stood in the comfortably worn parlor, she had been married there. It had been the first time she'd ever set foot in the house. Now, it was her house too.

"Your Ladyship."

It took her a moment to realize that Leo's steward and butler, Sanson, was addressing her.

"Welcome home." The old man's smile was kindly as he took her coat and then Leo's. It felt funny to be given preference, to be waited upon first. In the back of her mind she wondered if it would always feel so strange?

"Will you and Madam Gallen change before dinner, or would you prefer to eat first?"

Rather than answer, Leo cast her a questioning look. Aurella shrugged, returning the decision to him.

"Sanson, has the parcel arrived?"

The old man nodded. "It has, Milord. The items in question have been prepared and are in your room."

"Very good. I believe we'll clean up a bit first."

"I'll inform Mrs. Bella." With that, the butler bowed and left. Aurella watched, bemused, until Leo offered his arm. Hooking her hand on his elbow, she followed him upstairs.

The second floor of Gallen manor was sectioned off into rooms on either side of a wide hallway. During the hunting party, her room had been on the left hand side of the hall, with Chris's right beside. On the right were three rooms that had been occupied by the male members of the six mighty knights. Leo's, as the master suite, was near the end of the hall next to the solar which took up the far wall. Behind them, a wide window above the stairs let in the pale winter sunshine.

Sanson and the rest of the staff were nothing if not efficient. Leo's things had already been unpacked and put away, any soiled clothing spirited off to the laundry. Having little enough of her own, Aurella was not surprised that her belongings had also been neatly tucked away. What confused her, however, was the large picnic basket sitting atop the chest at the foot of the bed. Confused, she turned and asked.

"Leo what is this?"

"A belated wedding present," he smiled. "It's tradition for the Gallen men to gift their brides. Open it."

Shrugging to herself, she undid the latches and pushed back the wooden flaps. Her lips parted as she drew out a paisley shawl made of fine cashmere, done in shades of deep red and gold. Beneath this she found a bottle of perfume packed in lace-trimmed handkerchiefs. A handsome pair of leather gloves lay bound with a satin ribbon at the wrists to keep them together. At the bottom sat a finely carved traveling case, the top engraved with a familiar cipher- a crossed sword and short axe.

"Leo," she breathed. "It's too much. I cannot accept this."

"But you must," he insisted, stretching to kiss her cheek. "You are my wife. It isn't fair for the bride's family alone to stump up a dowry. It's no more and no less than my own mother received. Indeed, if it makes you feel any better, some of this is her hand-me-downs."

She laughed at this, and ran the shawl through her hands, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric.

"You have earned it," he assured her, seeming to read her thoughts. "You deserve this. I want you to have it."

"Well," she smiled, leaning in for a kiss. "If you insist."

Aurella felt like not just a Lady, but a Queen, descending the steps in skirts, her hand on Leo's arm and the paisley shawl draped over her shoulders.

"I can show you around a bit more tomorrow," he told her, "unless you'd rather explore on your own. This is your house. If you want to make any changes, do so. You hold the keys now."

"Do I really?" She couldn't help the curiosity in her voice.

"Of course. Sanson's managed things for me, and done so very well, but that's really the job of the Lady of the manor. If you don't want to, please don't feel you have to, but I know things would be expertly run in your hands."

The only answer she could give was a nod, her mind too busy mulling over the possibilities and already tallying the accounts that such an estate would require. The sight of the long, dark polished dining table and the horrible thought that she and Leo might be seated at opposite ends made her stop short. However, he drew her along, and pulled out the seat to the right of that at the head of the table, the same one she'd occupied during the hunting party. Of course. This was the wife's seat, the Lady's place. With a small sigh of relief, she sank down into it.

"You can move down if you like," he teased, having noticed her nerves. Aurella made a face.

"No thank you. I'd rather not have to use smoke signals to ask you to pass the salt."

Leo laughed at this, causing the corners of her own mouth to pull back into a grin.

"As I said, arrange things as you will. I've been a crusty old bachelor for too long. Aside from finally indulging Sanson in having some of the furniture reupholstered, I'm afraid this place has gone rather to seed. I don't know much about decorating."

"Neither do I," she reminded him as a footman brought in food.

"No, but I don't want you to think we've got to keep the collection of deer antlers in the parlor, or the tapestries in the solar. Stupid place for them, really. Sanson's had them covered for the last twenty years and for the life of me I cannot imagine why anyone would put them there in the first place if they're just going to fade."

Aurella chuckled with him at that.

"Don't be afraid to do as you please. There's no knick-knack or piece of furniture that merits any sort of sacred honor. I want you to add your own touch to this place."

"A woman's touch?" she asked with a smirk. Leo hid a smile behind his wineglass.

"Something like that."

"It may be a bit heavy-handed," she warned. Reaching, her covered her hand with his own.

"So long as the hand is yours."

A tame forest was a curious thing. Deer and boar roamed here, but not free as they might elsewhere. The animals were herded to a degree, to keep them within the Gallen borders. Only Leo and herself, the gamekeeper, and some of the tenants had the freedom to roam as they would. Leo had shown her and the others around on previous visits, but today she didn't want a tour. Instead, they'd saddled their horses and ridden off into the baring branches. Leaves crunched under the horses hooves, slow and stately as the animals ambled along. Without warning, Aurella heeled her mount and darted ahead. It took Leo only a moment to respond in kind and chase after her. Cierelle was not a small horse, but much shorter and slimmer than Leo's great black charger. Lying flat against the mare's outstretched neck, Aurella managed to avoid the low-hanging boughs and reaching branches that tore at her husband. Reilan, though large, was just as nimble and dodged readily around spaces too narrow to accommodate his girth.

The path widened as the trees drew back, and Leo raced ahead, snatching the hat from her head as he galloped past. With a cry more of amusement than shock, Aurella urged Cirelle on. The forest soon closed on them again, and rather than follow, she turned aside to weave through the trees. Leo waved the hat, taunting her with a laugh until it was snatched from his hand by a low-hanging branch. Aurella turned aside, and grabbed it, but almost lost her saddle. Leo had grabbed her wrist in a firm yet gentle grip. Unwilling to let her hat fall to the forest floor, she kept her fist closed.

Edging Cierelle closer, she leaned and caught Leo's cheek in her hand. Drawing him close, she stretched to kiss him. Rather than lean so far in the saddle, Leo reached and pulled her from her mount and onto his own, arranging her between himself and the saddle horn. She wrapped her arms around him, partly to keep her seat, but mostly to be close to him. His whiskers tickled her throat as they broke apart, a low chuckle warm against her skin.

"An empty house and you choose the woods?"

"Stage fright," she told him, hiding her face in the warm spot just under his jaw. "I cannot be expected to perform in front of an audience."

"Sanson is hardly going to watch through the keyhole," he told her amused. "The servants won't bother us."

"The servants were my equals once," she reminded him. "It's strange to be giving orders to civilians."

"It will come," he assured her, hugging her close. "And I don't make a habit of kissing servant girls in corners."

"Just in the forest?" she teased leaning in again.

"Perhaps," was his somewhat breathless reply. "I don't suppose you're shy of horses?"

She couldn't help a wicked grin. "Not hardly."

"We should have gotten married in the spring," Leo huffed, his breath a misty cloud in the chill air. "It's too cold out now."

"Don't tell me you've taken a chill?" Aurella chided, her own cheeks still burning.

"Hardly that," he replied, flushing a bit himself, "but I'd rather not make a habit- at least not in December."

She couldn't help laughing as he lifted her down. Taking advantage of the proximity, she stole a kiss. For once, she didn't mind leaving her animal to the care of someone else, and handed the reins over to the groom without a second thought.

Rather than sit at table as they had the first night, she and Leo ate a simple meal in front of the fire in their room.

"I'm sorry it's not a finer spread," Leo apologized for the soup, bread, and cheese laid out for them. "With us leaving for Vinay del Zexay in another day, it's not worth it to prepare a large meal."

"No one to eat the leftovers," Aurella nodded in agreement. "I for one certainly don't mind. It's far better than what the mess hall usually serves up."

The mess was, by and large, not that bad. Nothing was mouldy or rotten, though the bread was frequently a bit stale and the pottage in need of salt. It was a common joke among the cadets that the castle cooks never bothered to change the menu board and regardless of what was served, every entree was "stew".

"It's not a far ride, is it?" she asked. Leo shook his head.

"Not from here, no. Only a few hours."

"Good," she returned, leaning in to kiss him. "Then there's no need to turn in early."

"No indeed," he agreed, reaching and pulling her close.


	2. Cocoa

"I cannot i _believe_ /i you invited that creature."

Salome closed his eyes briefly, reminding himself that his mother was not so well informed as he was.

"Lady Gallen is both a commanding officer as well as the wife of one of my good friends. She is First-Lieutenant, Mistress of the Sword, and matriarch of the Gallen family. I assure you, I would not have invited her if I did not feel she wasn't suitable company. Besides, I can't very well ask Leo and not his bride, now can I?"

His mother stood silent, a familiar vaguely annoyed expression on her face. She recognized the validity of his argument, but still wasn't happy about the situation.

"That's all very well," she went on, apparently determined to at least make her opinion heard, "but it doesn't change the fact that she came from nothing. I'll grant you she's probably a fine soldier, but she's a common woman. What can she know of running an estate?"

"Ask her yourself, if you like," he shrugged. "Perhaps you can offer her some advice. She and Leo will be here tomorrow afternoon."

Uncertain and vaguely annoyed with her son, Madam Harras nonetheless went about preparing to entertain guests. Social calls were a regular part of the winter routine. Someone dropped by for tea almost daily, and for supper at least once a week. Rather than foist his fellow soldiers on her all at once, Salome had been bringing them by for tea, one after the other. Only the Elf and the farmer had yet to make an appearance. Now, however, he had invited the couple to stay at their house for the week. Admittedly it was an honor to have such a distinguished soldier as Lord Gallen staying under her roof, but as for his wife… Little was known about Lady Gallen outside of rumor and gossip. Lady Harras did not like inviting strangers into her home, but supposed she would have to trust her son's judgement.

From the parlour, she heard the bell chime and the clack of shoes on the tile floor. After a moment, the door swung open and the butler announced:

"Lord and Lady Gallen."

Smiling, she rose to meet them.

"Lord Gallen, Lady Gallen," Lady Harras nodded politely to each of her guests as Lord Gallen briefly bowed over her hand. To her slight surprise Lady Gallen returned the courtesy, inclining her head politely.

"Thank you so much for the invitation," Leo said, following her to a seat. "I hope it will not be an inconvenience."

"Not at all," Lady Harras replied amiably, pouring tea for all present.

From the corner of her eye, she watched the other woman. Lady Gallen was indeed rather old, older than her husband, though not so old as Lady Harras herself. Despite this, she had kept her figure well enough, and her complexion was clear though several shades too dark to be considered fair. Lord Gallen himself was rather swarthy, but it seemed a bit vulgar for a noble wife to be so tan. There were wings of gray creeping in at her temples, but the rest of her jaw-length hair was a deep, glossy brown.

The so-called Lady Guard had been known in their time for behaving like men. Admittedly trousers were part of the knights' uniforms, but Lady Harras did not think it becoming for women to display their legs so openly. However, Lady Gallen's skirts were of a decent length, just short of brushing the ground. The woolen suit with its peplum jacket was of a deep shade of blue and very becoming to the woman's dark hair and eyes. It was plain, yet elegant, decorated with only a row of brass buttons and a frothy lace jabot at her throat.

To her credit, and that of her husband, Lady Gallen behaved handsomely. Although she said little, speaking only when asked a direct question, there was no hint of meekness about her. Like her son and his fellow officers, there was a shrewdness to her gaze and a strength in her bearing. Any other wife new to society might have shrunk shyly from the calculating gaze of the other wives and mothers. Lady Gallen, however, seemed to be conducting an inspection of her own from her seat on the velvet settee. Lady Harras found herself wondering if the table linen had been starched that day, or if there were a smudge on the silver teapot that she had not detected? She took a moment to remind herself that she did not stand in awe of Lady Gallen's judgement.

While she'd have to be thick indeed not to realize that her every move would be under heavy scrutiny, Lady Gallen seemed utterly unfazed. Her character was on trial as it had never been before, but she behaved as if it were Vinay del Zexay standing inspection and not she. It occurred to Lady Harras that this was the haughtiness of which she had heard others speak, but only one familiar with the military would recognize it for what it was: gravitas. Like her son, Lady Gallen was an officer, and a high-ranking one at that. She was used to giving orders, and was not about to be bullied by a pack of old women in lace bonnets. Lady Harras pressed her lips together to keep from smiling outright. Well, every general needed a good diplomat, did they not?

"Tell me, Lady Gallen," she began, passing her a teacup, "have you any other acquaintances here in Vinay del Zexay?"

Lady Gallen shrugged. "One or two, but it's been ages. I'm afraid I haven't seen them since we were cadets together."

"Oh?" Lady Harras had not expected this. "May I ask who? Perhaps I could reintroduce you?"

A cautious smile appeared on the younger woman's face. "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble."

"Nonsense," Lady Harras waved the remark away. "You must have your own visitors while you are guests in my house."

"Well," Lady Gallen began, "Charlotte Renard, Francesca Di La Rosa, and Deanna Erstford all married and left the corps. After they became civilians, I'm afraid I rather lost track of them."

"I am acquainted with Madam Di La Rosa," Lady Harras confirmed. "Send cards and invite them all to tea. I should like to get to know them better myself."

Word, Lady Harras soon discovered, had gotten round. Not an hour after the Gallens had arrived, a veritable deluge of calling cards descended. The butler must have answered the door twenty times in one hour, accepting card after invitation after card. Most of them were not for her, but she nonetheless sorted them into heaps before passing them along to Lady Gallen. Most of the names were those she knew only through (ill) reputation. These were shallow attempts to gain audience with Lord Gallen's infamous bride. Her parlour was not a circus ten-in-one where one could come to gawp at freaks of nature. Had the notes been addressed to her, she would have thrown them into the fire without thought. However, such a decision was not hers. Instead, she brought the pile of cards to Lady Gallen herself.

"What on earth?" Lady Gallen remarked, sifting through a heap of invitations so precarious that it barely balanced on the silver platter.

"Invitations- some to you, some of you."

Lady Gallen blinked, evidently bemused by her sudden popularity. "I see."

Although the younger woman made no other immediate comment, Lady Harras got the impression that she did, indeed, see.

"I'm afraid none of these names are familiar to me," she said, looking up from the shuffle of cards at last. "Would you be good enough to help me sift through these?"

Lady Harras smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

In the end, a mere dozen of the invites were accepted and returned. Half would be making the pilgrimage to the Harras home, the rest would see the Gallens riding out to meet their foes. Actually, they would only be venturing into enemy territory three times- and only because the invites could not possibly be turned down. The other cards had come from friends: Lady Lightfellow, Lord Redrum, and, as it turned out, the Di La Rosa's. Lady Harras resolved to arm Lady Gallen as best she might for such a duel of etiquette.

"What was the name again?" Aurella asked as the Harras' borrowed carriage rattled along the cobblestones. The ride was smooth enough for wooden wheels on stone, but it still made an appalling racket.

"Dieterich," Leo supplied. "I confess I don't know much about them, only that Lord Dieterich is some sort of clerk on the Council staff. One of the secretaries or something. I forget the official title."

The carriage clattered a halt and Leo flung open the door and jumped out, glad to be out of the chilly little box, plush and upholstered though it might be. Turning, he offered a hand to help her down. Ordinarily Aurella would have climbed down herself, but she took his hand and smiled, holding her skirts clear of the muddy curb with her other hand. She was perfectly capable of making the jump, but things were different here in town. Here she was wearing skirts, and people were watching. However, she reminded herself, she did it mostly to please Leo. After all, why spurn an opportunity to take hands with her husband? There were few enough moments for socially acceptable cuddling in Vinay del Zexay.

The Dieterich home was not particularly large or grand, but very securely dignified. Made of the same gray stone as the other homes in the city, it was wedged between two other moderately stately dwellings. The windows were narrow but long, and an ornamental lintel of worked stone protected the door. A butler bowed them through said door and, after taking their cloaks, showed them to a parlor that looked as if it would have liked to be grandiose but had settled instead for a sort of architectural equivalent of Sunday best.

"Lord and Lady Gallen," the butler intoned before bowing out.

"How lovely to finally meet you!" A small woman in a silk gown the color of cocoa rose to meet them. Perhaps it was her large dark eyes, her ready smile, and lively chatter, but she reminded Aurella of nothing so much as a brown squirrel.

"Lady Dieterich," Leo said politely, bowing over her hand. Aurella automatically inclined her head the appropriate thirty degrees. "Thank you so much for inviting us."

"Not at all," Lady Dieterich waved them toward the sofa with a sunny smile. "The honor is entirely mine. I'm so glad you came."

"Thank you," Leo said, taking a seat, Aurella sinking down next to him. "Will Lord Dieterich be joining us?"

"I'm afraid not." Briefly, the smile faded. "He's terribly busy you know. I'm sure I don't have to tell i _you_ /i, Lord Gallen, of the Council's uncanny fondness for forms filled out in triplicate."

"I have had some experience with it, yes," Leo chuckled.

"Tea?" Lady Dieterich asked. "Or would you prefer chocolate? My husband says I'll ruin my teeth with so much sugar but if he can have his sherry after dinner I don't see why I can't have a sweetie here and there."

Not wanting to make the decision for both of them, Leo turned to his wife. She did not notice the unspoken question immediately; she'd been studying the chocolate pot, trying to puzzle out whether it was for tea or coffee?

"Chocolate, then," Leo nodded. "I confess it's a treat in which I rarely indulge. I've never quite mastered the trick of mixing it properly."

"Yes, the trick is in the preparation," she agreed, taking up the pot and swirling the wooden muddler to stir up the cocoa that had settled to the bottom. "If one may boast, my parlour is famous for it's chocolate. Clotted cream? My daughters insist it's divine that way, but I feel there can be too much of a good thing."

"I trust your judgement," Leo deferred, accepting a cup. "It's a pity your husband could not join us. You must give him our regards, though I'm sure I'll run into him eventually. I have business with the Council that must be seen to before the end of the season."

"Oh yes, I've heard about that. Not the sort of thing my dear Robert talks about over the dinner table, but news will travel. Mostly he's convinced they're trying to drown him in paper, as if the Vice-Chancellor of the Keys didn't have enough to do."

There was a rather undignified snort as Aurella struggled not to gag on her chocolate. Reflexively, Leo snatched her cup and patted her on the back. Covering her mouth with a napkin, Aurella coughed until tears ran from her eyes.

"Lady Gallen I am i _so_ /i sorry! Is it too hot? Is there a lump of cocoa undissolved?"

Unable to answer, Aurella shook her head, still gasping for breath. "Excuse me," she wheezed at last. "No, I just swallowed at the wrong moment."

"Oh yes I hate when that happens," Lady Dieterich agreed. "May I offer you a cake instead?"

"Thank you." Automatically, Aurella took one of the little frosted buns and bit off an edge. Aside from the single bite however, the cake lay forgotten on her plate. Leo and Lady Dieterich chatted amiably about nothing in particular, Aurella only supplying a monosyllabic answer when required. After a small eternity, a little china clock on the mantle chimed and Leo stood up.

"Thank you again, Lady Dieterich," he said, nodding over her hand once more. "The chocolate was indeed excellent."

"You're very welcome I'm sure. Please do stop by again? I know it will be a great disappointment for my husband to know he missed you."

Pleasantries fluttered around her head like butterflies as Aurella made her own goodbyes. Not until Leo had boosted her back into the carriage did the world begin to right itself.

"Are you alright?" The words were strong and warm as was the arm around her shoulders. With a sigh, she leaned into it.

"I think I'm allergic to chocolate."

Aurella was sick later that evening, and did not attend dinner with the Harras'. The chocolate turned her stomach, making her glad that the Harras mansion had an indoor privy. Although Leo had heard her retching, he knew enough not to barge in until she was ready to face him. This was not how she had wanted to begin their marriage, sick and shivering in his arms, fighting not to cry.

i _Food poisoning_ /i, she insisted to herself. i _A peasant constitution can't digest something so rich._ /i

After the third time Leo woke to find her clinging to the edge of the bed dry heaving, he threatened her with a doctor.

"I'm fine," she rasped. "Just a stomach ache, nothing more."

"You i _need_ /i a doctor," he'd insisted.

"I need a brandy," she retorted crossly, too ill to worry if she were being unreasonable.

"If I may, sir?" the chambermaid who'd been roused to deal with the minor crisis of a guest's illness interjected.

"Yes?"

"A drop of brandy wouldn't go amiss. Spirits does wonders to settle the stomach."

"Very well," Leo agreed. "Fetch a glass for Lady Dancon."

The girl dropped a hasty curtsey and scurried from the room. There was a decanter and a pair of glasses in the next room. It did not take her long to pour a measure of liquor into one of them and return with it. Aurella sipped it carefully, glad for the more cleansing burn of the alcohol as it washed the horrid taste of acid from her throat. The brandy had the added bonus of not only settling her churning stomach but making her sleepy. Allowing her husband to tuck her in, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

She awoke with a start, scrabbling blindly for a knife that was not under her pillow. The tapping of knuckles against wood sounded again.

"Lady Gallen?" a mousy voice queried from the other side of the door.

The stab of panic subsided as recollection dawned. She was in Lord Harras' house. She'd been a guest at- her mind skipped over the entire afternoon- and become ill. Food poisoning. Like as not she'd been allowed to sleep through breakfast, which would explain the lack of husband in her bed.

"Are you awake, Milady?"

"Yes," Aurella croaked, only then realizing how dry and sore her throat was. "Come in."

The maid elbowed the door open, her hands occupied with a covered tray.

"Her Ladyship thought you might like something light," the girl said, setting the short-legged tray over her legs like a miniature bridge.

Tugging her bedgown more closely about her shoulders, Aurella lifted the lid. The cook had chosen well. Although she'd expected to have her throat close at the stench of fried eggs or porridge, none were present. Instead, only a pot of tea, several slices of toast, and two dishes of different jam sat innocently beneath the silver dome.

"Would you like anything else, Milady?" the maid asked.

"You might fetch me another drink," Aurella rasped, pouring herself a cup of tea. Servant's gossip be damned, she needed an eye-opener after a night like that. More than once she'd nursed gut misery with alcohol since tea was a rare commodity on the battlefield. Obediently, the maid curtsied and went to procure the requested drink.

"Here you are, Milady."

"Thank you."

Aurella took little notice of the girl as she puttered about the room straightening this and that. Closing her eyes, she finished the tea before beginning on the brandy. It was mint tea, good for soothing a sore stomach. Mentally, Aurella awarded full marks to the kitchen staff of the Harras house. However, she wasn't sure a bit of toast and herbal tea would cure the knot in her stomach. Alcohol might, but she doubted Lord Harras' cellar was up to the task.


	3. Shopping

"My dear, is that all you own?"

Aurella looked up from her porridge and blinked. "What?"

"Your dress," Lady Harras nodded at the simple riding habit. "Don't you own any other styles?"

"I have a few things," Aurella shrugged. "I've worn uniforms for most of my life."

"Indeed." Lady Harras took a thoughtful sip of tea. "Would you care to accompany my daughter and I on a little shopping trip? It's always worth a walk through the market this time of year even if you don't buy anything. The stalls are simply bulging with wears."

"Alright," Aurella agreed. Shopping was not something in which she'd had much experience outside of visits to quartermaster's. It might be fun to peruse wares that didn't come from the military.

While the produce and meat markets were largely outside, the haberdashers, perfumers, and other decidedly feminine shops into which Aurella had never ventured were all located indoors. Although a draft of warmer air had pushed the snow away for the moment, it was still cold and rather windy as they wandered along the cobbled streets. It was damp, but not muddy, so there was no need for patens or heavy boots. As it was, the three women wore sturdy shoes as they walked. A carriage would have been more fashionable, but it was a fine day and walking was warmer than sitting in a thin wooden box.

It still felt a bit strange to go about in skirts. After almost thirty years in trousers, it had come as a mild shock to realize she'd missed it. Clothing, she felt, ought not to be divided by gender, but by purpose. Skirts, by and large, were not practical for riding horses or sword practise. However, trousers on a lady did look a little strange at a ball, unless she was in uniform. Skirts were cooler in the heat of summer, and she liked the swish and rustle of her petticoats as she walked. The odd looks were lessening, but there was still many a perplexed expression cast in her direction. People, it seemed, just didn't expect the tough-as-nails Training Mistress to go about dressed like a woman.

To be fair, the last time she'd worn a skirt, she'd been little more than a child. Wearing the nicest dress she owned, she'd enlisted as one of the first women to be part of the Zexen army. She had wanted to make a good impression, to be certain she'd have something decent to wear to church, only to discover all the boys had shown up in rather tatty clothes that in many cases were a size or so too small.

"Didn't you know?" one had told her, surprise written on his freckled face. "They burn your old clothes and cut your hair. That's the first part of being a knight."

Horrified, Aurella had asked if her dress might be preserved or put away for occasions when a uniform was not necessary, but no one had listened. Her best garment had been tossed onto the bonfire along with the hand-me-down rags of wealthy men's sons. She was not even allowed to keep her chemise or stays. A boy's shirt- miles too big for her skinny frame- had been shoved over her head. The leggings made her feel naked and exposed, and the waistcoat did little more than obscure her budding breasts, but she stood firmly at attention as a man with scissors hacked off her thick brown braid. She didn't mind that so much. Hair would grow back, but it had been a struggle not to cry for her lost dress.

"Here we are!" Miss Harras' voice rang out over the bare cobble streets, snapping her back to the present.

Veering away from the main street toward a little gabled archway, she led the older women into a small, tunnel-like space. On either hand, store fronts faced the narrow walkway. It was not a tunnel, Aurella realized, looking up, but one of many narrow paths between buildings constructed so close to one another that they gave the illusion of enclosed space. The wide glass windows of the haberdasher's, the furrier's, the jeweler's, and a dozen other store fronts with a decidedly feminine slant lessened the darkness and the sensation of navigating a maze. Noblewomen in fine caps and wide skirts wandered past, their dark-clad maids and footmen with arms full of parcels trailing behind them. It occurred to her belatedly that neither of the Harras women had brought a servant. Perhaps they did not intend to buy anything?

Miss Harras, muff tucked close to her middle, stood admiring a set of tortoise shell combs on display in the frosted shop window.

"Mother, look at these!"

Madam Harras did look, and nodded approvingly. "Very handsome, and not a bad price I should imagine. Shell is not nearly so costly as silver. Your hair isn't so heavy that it would require much more."

"Oh I have a lovely set already," Miss Harras demured, blushing. "I only thought these were pretty."

"They are at that. Let's go on to the haberdasher's. We can make a more thorough examination after that."

The haberdahser's was near the middle of the narrow lane, and easily the largest of all the stores. Thick bolts of fabric lined the walls floor to ceiling, great spools of ribbon stood speared on long wooden shafts like roasts over an open fire. Huge boquets of lace sat wound round and round the flat wooden spools, giving the impression of an army of tiny petticoats. Strings of luminous beads and bowls of glittering sequins sparkled from the corners. Already several women were crowded inside- the press made more awkward by crinolines and panniers- being assisted by half a dozen rather too-handsome young men.

This was a far cry from the quartermaster's. Brass Castle might have an impressive array of weapons, and a never-ending supply of uniforms, but Aurella had never seen so many expensive things in one place at one time. Silk, satins, and damasks were pulled out and offered to the ladies to finger. Only the finest Chisha muslin would do for the chemises, caps, and handkerchiefs of Zexen's elite. Although ridiculously expensive, it was perhaps the least of the many drygoods offered at the store.

Unthinking, she drifted over to one of the walls of fabric, just admiring the array of colors, textures and prints. They'd been arranged on the shelves according to type and color; a shelf of silk near the ceiling, satin below it, then velvet, damask, taffeta, and many others, all of them dark at one end and light at the other.

"Good day, Milady."

It took Aurella a moment to realize the young man was talking to her. He was young, slender, and a little too primped for her taste. She sincerely doubted he dressed like this on his off hours, then again, perhaps he did. There was more than one dandy wandering the halls of Brass Castle, but this boy was leaning closer to "fop". At least he wasn't wearing makeup, though his hair could have done will less pomade.

"Would you like to examine anything more closely?" he asked her, putting up one hand to reach for a roll of claret-colored damask. Although she would have loved to finger such exotic fabric, she dared not. Unlike the other fine ladies pawing over the merchandise, her hands were not white or soft. Heavy callouses and short nails made for good combat practise, but not for sewing or needlework.

"No thank you," she told him, folding her gloved hands tightly behind her back. "I'm only window shopping."

"Why?" asked a second voice at her shoulder. Madam Harras had come up behind her. "Why shouldn't you buy a few yards?"

Aurella shook her head and smiled ruefully. "Whatever would I do with it?"

Madam Harras shook her head in something like exasperation. "Whatever you please. Scrub floors in it if you like." The smile she offered was small, but teasing, almost playful. It felt a bit strange to see it on a civilian woman's face. Strange, but welcome.

"You cannot tell me you can't afford it," she went on. "I'm sure your husband would appreciate your fine taste. Young man," she turned and addressed the young clerk. "Fetch that down."

With a nod, he reached and pulled the bolt of cloth from the shelf, skillfully cradling it in one arm and holding out a short length for them to examine with the other. Without removing her soft leather gloves, Aurella reached and slid her fingers over the smooth fabric. It whisked pleasantly at her touch.

"It becomes you very well," the clerk remarked, holding the length near her face. "Not just anyone can wear red."

Oh yes. She'd forgotten. Red was a controversial color for women. Stripes were all right, as was print, but solid red of any shade could not be safely worn by anyone but girls under ten and married women over forty. Well, she fit in that last category didn't she?

"Oh that looks lovely!" Miss Harras had come to join the conversation. "Are you getting a length?"

"Oh no," the response was automatic, though Aurella remembered to modulate her tone from disdain to amusement. "No, frummery will do me no good on duty or off. I can't ride in something like this, I'd destroy it."

"A dressing gown then," Madam Harras suggested. "You're hardly likely to damage the fabric lounging on the divan."

Aurella blinked. "The what?"

"It's a type of sofa," Miss Harras supplied.

"Oh. Well, I'm not much for lounging."

"Balderdash," Madam Harras insisted. "If you don't buy it, I'll get it myself and make a gift of it."

"No, please," Aurella deferred. "Don't do that."

"Then pick something. If not this, then something else." Her tone was so commanding that Aurella had to fight the urge to salute.

"Alright, alright," she assented, struggling not to laugh. "Only I haven't much money with me."

"Charge it," Madam Harras replied loftily. "They can deliver it to the house this afternoon. You can pay for it then."

That explained the lack of servants.

"Very well," Aurella agreed, feeling somewhat outmaneuvered. It was true she could afford the fabric, but the money was Leo's and not hers. While she was certain he would buy up half the store if she so much as hinted at it, she still felt guilty spending his money on something so foolish as her own misbegotten vanity. Her sister had been the beauty of the family, and while reasonably satisfied with her own looks, Aurella had never thought of herself as pretty. Dressing a scarecrow in silk did not make it any less a scarecrow. Still, if the fabric was to be made into a dressing gown, only Leo was likely to see it, and his approval was all that mattered.

"How much, madam?"

Aurella shook off her reverie to notice the clerk had spread the fabric across the cutting table, a large pair of scissors poised in one hand.

"Er…" she replied blankly. Mercifully, Madam Harras stepped in.

"How tall are you?" she asked.

"Five-nine without boots."

"And around?"

Of course. Her measurements. Since only the clerk appeared to be paying them any mind, she rattled off the appropriate numbers. The young man doodled for a moment on a scrap of paper, evidently calculating the necessary yardage before measuring out the fabric. It seemed an alarming amount to Aurella, but Madam Harras did not hesitate to argue an extra few feet out of the by now rather harassed clerk.

Leaving the cut fabric at the shop to be delivered later, they moved on to the next shop. Aurella hung back a bit, looking and not touching all the beautiful and costly wares. As a girl she had occasionally pressed her nose against a shop window. At one time she would have dreamed about owning a silk petticoat, a string of pearls, or a silver comb. Then hard times had come and her only thoughts had been of survival, of keeping her family safe if not together. After that she had had to stop thinking like a woman and begin thinking like a soldier.

Being a female in the army had been… She couldn't find a word for it. Perhaps because all these years, she hadn't been living as a woman. She had never given much thought to her own gender, had simply lived inside her body as anyone else did. However, it was her body that had been offensive. It had not occurred to her that anything but short-cropped hair would be acceptable. How was she to know that the close-fitting trousers would hug her hips and legs in such a way that everyone stared at her whether they meant to or not? What she was supposed to do about breasts that bounced and jiggled with every motion with no stays to restrain or support them, she was sure she didn't know. What truly annoyed her was that when she and the others tried to bury their female traits, to act like soldiers, they were ridiculed for it. Contrariwise, should they dare to indulge in any feminine behavior, they weren't considered tough enough to serve as part of the Zexen army.

They had found ways to manage, she and the other women. The first year had been the hardest. After they had survived the first round of training, of hazing and harassment, other women had been allowed in. There was at least safety in numbers with a growing band of low-born women to look after and support one another. They had done it almost automatically. There were no queen bees, no would-be princesses. Realising there was no one else to turn to, every one of them had banded together like sisters. The St. Loa nuns, she was sure, were not as close as she was to her own sisters-in-arms. Fencing vests stolen from the practise yard became jumps. Ruined bedsheets were fashioned into simple chemises. It was small, but it was something. A way to reclaim a tiny bit of their identity as women. Not until the first noble daughters entered the corps, however, did the ban on long hair finally come to an end. Danielle had grown her thick, blue-black tresses down to her waist and wore them in a pair of wide, girlish plaits just for spite.

Aurella had never been able to cut her hair so short as Henrietta and some of the others, but she'd never had the patience to grow it out again, either. Combs and hairpins were of no use to her, and she stood back as Miss Harras fussed over the tortoise shell combs once more before they headed home. In the end, Madam Harras had bullied her into buying a jar of scented cream for her hands, a pair of fur-lined gloves, and a handsome wolf pelt. What she was going to do with the fur piece, she wasn't entirely sure. Miss Harras had suggested trimming a jacket, or perhaps the as yet unmade dressing gown, with a muff made of the leftover pieces. It was more money than she'd ever spent in one place and she felt a trifle awkward about it.

The boys, it seemed, had beaten them home, if the great coats hanging in the foyer were any indication. In their room, Leo was looking curiously at the wrapped parcels sitting on their bed.

"Been shopping?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, feeling strangely nervous. "I hope that's alright."

Leo laughed. "My dear, you don't need to ask me! If you want something, get it. I trust you in all things, including how best to spend your money."

"It isn't mine," she insisted, "it's yours."

"Has the army ceased to pay you?" he asked feigning surprise.

Aurella rolled her eyes. "No, of course not."

"Then you must spend your wages however you see fit."

"Well," she returned with a smile, "we'll see if you still think me so wise with my money when you see what I've bought."

His smile spread to a grin. "Nothing would please me more."


End file.
